


Wet N Wild

by bunnybrook



Category: Zoolander (2001)
Genre: Mother-Son Relationship, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnybrook/pseuds/bunnybrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His mother has died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet N Wild

The second time he realizes he was extremely gorgeous was in the bathroom of the Baptist church in town. He splashed water on his fest, hiding the way his eyeliner was running. He shouldn’t have worn it to the funeral, that’s what his father had said, but Derek knew his mother would appreciate it. All the make-up was for him, anyways. They’d always shared.

He did his own make up at this point in his life and in his dreams he had a nice make-up artist named Yann (pronounced like ee-an) who did his make up for him. There was black lipstick, a grayish, ash colored eyeshadow and heaps of dark eyeliner to really, really announce how sad he was.

And he was sad, Derek thought, right after knowing how beautiful he was. With his beauty came a numbness, he knew this too. Numbness wasn’t even a concept he could grasp, ten years old and alone now. He always loved his mother more and knew he was the favorite of the three children. His mother was teaching him how to sew. She taught him make up, picked out the best clothes from the Good Will, made him new clothes to flaunt around the house and at school with sequins and glitter.

“We could go to New York,” she had said. “Together.”

Derek mouthed the words to himself. Together. He’d have to go by himself now, forge his own way into the model industry. He takes the eyeliner pen from his pocket, it’s Wet ‘N Wild brand and he’s almost ashamed to be wearing it. He didn’t have a job yet and wouldn’t be able to find anything else.

He was almost done reapplying to the first eye when Scrappy came in and pulled on his hair, causing the eyeliner to smudge. This was the problem with Wet ‘N Wild, it smudged so damn easily.

“Dad wants you, faggot,” he said and left, shaking his head. Derek licks his lips, re-doing his lipstick now too. He gently wipes sweat from in between his nose and lips and off the top of his forehead, dabbing and being gentle to not take off too much concealer.

“When did I ever say I _want_ you?” his father said, sneering. It was a Look, one of fire and anger and passion, Derek thought his father could be a model too if he hadn’t decided to be a dirty miner.

His first Look is called Hathor, after the Egyptian goddess of Beauty that he learned about in fourth grade History class the first time around. He thought about naming it Osiris or Ra, after men goddesses but none of them fit as much as Hathor, (pronounced hat-whore). Not only was she beauty, but she was the goddess of moms and happiness, too. It only seemed right.

The first time he used Hathor was in his school picture. He’d worn a GAP brand jacket with a Target t-shirt that he’d tye-dyed. His jeans were black denim Levi brand and his shoes were black New Balance tennis shoes, good for running. He did his hair up special with gel, spiking it to get it out of his beautiful face. His hairdresser in the future was named Tatiana and she did this for him. Her hands massaged his scalp and they would listen to music while he did it so he stayed relaxed.

The photographer was named Mr. Harold Hamburger, or something like that. He waved and made funny faces so the kids would smile in pictures.

“I don’t want to smile in my picture,” Derek said when it was his turn. “Can I do something else? It’ll be good. Promise.”

“Kid, you have to smile,” Mr. Harold said.

“Just wait.”

Derek flashed Hathor. The camera flashed back. He was the only kid not smiling in the yearbook and when he showed it to his father all he saw was a frown form, the slight wrinkles around his father’s eyes deepening, the lines around his mouth looking like canyons.

“Are you proud?” Derek asked, something more than hope in his voice. Maybe it was fear. He was always bad at telling how to feel and how to sound.

“Sure,” his dad said. “If you wanted to look like a moron, I’m real proud of you.”

Oh. And Derek kept smiling and took the yearbook.

He didn’t use Hathor again but he practiced new looks. He’d get to New York. He worked now, not in the coal mines with his brothers and father but at a travel agency, stamping and enveloping letters. It was dull work for a dull man who loved it. It would never amount to modeling.


End file.
